In some room somewhere the one shirt immaculate proper and desperate the poet writes the forbidden words signs entwining on a page
soon vast as the seabed
the four elements embracing constellation of desire and of death motionless in the changing sky of language like the obscenely pure drawing burning on the decrepit wall
Days like lost clouds islands buried in a chest pleasure
jaguar wave and skull Two eyes fixed on two eyes
always the same eyes
the only mother of man is only desire real?
Claws that rip at a shadow lips that drink death from a body that corpse discovered at dawn in our bed—is it real?
reality desires itself invents a body of lightning bends over and looks at itself
its thousand eyes polish it like a thousand fanatical hands It wants to abandon itself
to burn
in a room at the bottom of a crater to be beneath two fixed eyes frozen stone and ash
With clear letters the poet writes his dark truth.

Butterfly Framed and Dried by Kalliope Amorphous

Sonnet X

As to a child, I talked my heart asleep
With empty promise of the coming day,
And it slept rather for my words made sleep
Than from a thought of what their sense did say.
For did it care for sense, would it not wake
And question closer to the morrow’s pleasure?
Would it not edge nearer my words, to take
The promise in the meting of its measure?
So, if it slept, ’twas that it cared but for
The present sleepy use of promised joy,
Thanking the fruit but for the forecome flower
Which the less active senses best enjoy.
Thus with deceit do I detain the heart
Of which deceit’s self knows itself a part